Chapter 4 - THE NIGHT LUCA HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN HIS EMPIRE AND ME
Marcus took us to the Beaumont Hotel.
The same hotel where everything had begun.
There was something almost theatrical about it.
Charles liked theater.
The gala had ended hours earlier.
The ballroom was empty now.
Chandeliers remained lit above abandoned tables.
Champagne glasses waited to be collected.
The dance floor where Ethan had held me looked completely ordinary.
Charles Moretti stood beneath the chandeliers.
Daniel Mercer was beside him.
So was Matteo.
Matteo’s hands were tied.
That answered one question.
Daniel looked furious.
That answered another.
He was not part of Charles’s plan.
“You’re insane,” Daniel said.
Charles smiled.
“No. I’m practical.”
Marcus pushed us forward.
Luca remained between me and the gun whenever possible.
I wanted to kick him.
I also loved him a little for it.
That realization arrived at an extremely inconvenient time.
Charles looked at Isabella.
“You should have stayed dead.”
She stared at him.
“You should have learned accounting.”
I almost laughed.
Charles did not.
He looked at me.
“And Sophia Bennett.”
“Charles Moretti.”
“You created an extraordinary amount of trouble in twenty-four hours.”
“I’ve had excellent training.”
I glanced at Luca.
Charles noticed.
“So that part wasn’t fake after all.”
Neither of us answered.
Charles smiled.
“I wondered.”
Luca stepped forward.
“What do you want?”
“The company.”
“You already had access.”
“Access is not ownership.”
“You framed me for nine years because you wanted a title?”
Charles’s face hardened.
“Your father gave everything to you.”
“My father built the company.”
“Our father.”
“You were compensated.”
“I was given scraps.”
Luca laughed quietly.
“You own three hundred million dollars in stock.”
“Exactly.”
Only billionaires could make three hundred million sound like childhood neglect.
Charles continued.
“You were always the chosen one. Then Isabella discovered the accounts.”
“You tried to kill her.”
“I tried to solve a problem.”
Luca’s fists tightened.
Marcus raised the gun.
I touched Luca’s arm.
He stopped.
Charles looked pleased.
“Interesting.”
“What?” I asked.
“He listens to you.”
“Occasionally.”
“That makes you dangerous.”
“No. It makes him slightly less annoying.”
Luca almost smiled.
Charles did not.
He placed documents on a table.
“Sign.”
Luca looked down.
“What is it?”
“Transfer of voting control.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Sophia confesses to Peter Wallace’s murder and financial fraud.”
I laughed.
Charles stared at me.
“Something funny?”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s already supported by evidence.”
“Fake evidence.”
“Evidence is whatever survives examination.”
“Not anymore.”
His expression changed slightly.
Good.
He did not know how much we had found.
I continued.
“The security footage is fake. We proved it.”
Marcus looked at Charles.
Charles remained calm.
“The money?”
“Traceable.”
“The authorizations?”
“Also traceable.”
I was bluffing on that one.
Mostly.
Charles’s eyes narrowed.
“So confident.”
“I organize Luca Moretti’s life for a living. Fraud is less complicated.”
Luca looked at me.
I saw it.
He understood what I was doing.
Stalling.
Because before leaving the penthouse, I had done one small thing.
I had activated the emergency function on my watch.
It sent my location to Natalie.
My sister.
Natalie knew exactly one thing about Luca Moretti.
If I ever sent an emergency location while I was with him, call the police first and ask questions later.
Charles pushed the documents toward Luca.
“Sign.”
“No.”
Marcus raised the gun toward me.
Luca’s expression changed.
“Don’t.”
Charles smiled.
“There it is.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“She stopped being outside this when you brought her tonight.”
Guilt crossed Luca’s face.
I hated that.
“Don’t you dare,” I said.
He looked at me.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“I brought you here.”
“I said yes.”
“I should never have asked.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew there was risk.”
“You knew there was gossip.”
Charles sighed.
“Touching. Sign.”
Luca looked at the documents.
Then at me.
I knew what he would do.
He would give Charles everything.
Not because the company meant nothing.
Because I meant more.
That should have felt romantic.
Instead, it made me furious.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
Charles frowned.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“I know.”
I looked at Luca.
“If you sign that because of me, I will never forgive you.”
“Sophia.”
“I mean it.”
“He has a gun.”
“And you have twelve thousand employees.”
His face tightened.
“People who spent their careers building that company. People with mortgages and kids and retirement accounts. You don’t hand all of them to this psychopath because I’m standing in the wrong ballroom.”
Charles looked offended.
“Psychopath seems excessive.”
“Be quiet.”
Daniel laughed.
Marcus almost did.
Charles’s face darkened.
Luca whispered, “Sophia.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You told me you trusted me.”
“I do.”
“Then trust me now.”
“With your life?”
“Yes.”
His eyes closed for half a second.
That was the hardest thing I had ever asked him to do.
Not save me.
Trust me.
Sirens sounded faintly outside.
Charles heard them.
His face changed.
Marcus turned toward the windows.
I moved.
I grabbed a champagne bottle from the nearest table and smashed it against Marcus’s wrist.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
People screamed.
Luca tackled Marcus.
Daniel threw himself at Charles.
Matteo kicked a chair into another guard.
Isabella grabbed the gun.
I dropped behind a table.
The ballroom exploded into chaos.
Police entered less than a minute later.
Charles tried to run.
He made it six steps.
By the time the room became quiet again, Marcus was handcuffed.
Charles was face-down on the dance floor.
Daniel was bleeding from his nose.
Matteo was laughing hysterically.
Isabella still held the champagne bottle I had dropped.
And Luca?
Luca was looking for me.
“Sophia!”
I stood.
“I’m here.”
He crossed the ballroom.
Then stopped.
I saw the moment he remembered himself.
My boss.
Former boss.
A man who had spent years respecting a boundary even when he did not want to.
So he stopped three feet away.
“You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
His hands remained at his sides.
I understood.
Even now, he was asking.
I stepped into his arms.
Luca held me.
Not carefully.
Not professionally.
He held me like a man who had spent the last hour imagining a world in which he never got to do it.
His face pressed against my hair.
I felt his breathing shake.
“I thought—”
“I know.”
“I thought—”
“I know.”
He pulled back.
His hands framed my face.
Then stopped.
Again.
Permission.
I almost smiled.
“Luca.”
“Yes?”
“If you ask whether you can kiss me, I’m going to be disappointed.”
His eyes changed.
“Why?”
“Because for once in your life, you should be able to read a room.”
He kissed me.
It was not elegant.
It was not controlled.
It was nothing like Luca Moretti.
Which was exactly why it was perfect.
Someone behind us said, “Seriously?”
Matteo.
We separated.
He grinned.
“I’ve been tied to a chair for three hours. Could somebody untie me before the romantic ending?”
I laughed.
Luca actually looked embarrassed.
Police freed Matteo.
Charles was taken away.
Marcus asked for an attorney.
Daniel declined medical attention because apparently billionaire pride could heal nosebleeds.
Then I saw Isabella.
She stood alone near the ballroom doors.
Watching us.
My happiness immediately became complicated.
I approached her.
“Are you okay?”
She smiled sadly.
“I think I will be.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
I looked toward Luca.
She understood.
“Sophia.”
“I know you loved him.”
“I did.”
“Maybe you still do.”
She was quiet.
Then she nodded.
“Some part of me probably always will.”
My chest tightened.
“But the Luca I loved was thirty-one,” she continued. “He thought he could fix everything if he worked hard enough. I was twenty-nine and thought protecting someone meant making choices for them.”
She looked at him.
“He’s not that man anymore.”
“No.”
“And I’m not that woman.”
I did not know what to say.
She smiled.
“You don’t owe me guilt.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I thought about it.
“Not yet.”
“You will.”
She hugged me.
It surprised me.
When she stepped back, Luca was standing several feet away.
Isabella looked at him.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Luca approached.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“So am I.”
“I should have trusted you.”
“Yes.”
She laughed through tears.
“You could pretend to disagree.”
“I’ve had a difficult evening.”
That made her laugh harder.
Then he hugged her.
I looked away.
Not because I was jealous.
Because some endings deserved privacy.
Three months later, Charles Moretti was indicted on fraud, conspiracy, kidnapping, obstruction, and enough additional charges that I stopped counting.
Marcus agreed to cooperate.
The investigation cleared me completely.
Peter Wallace’s death was determined to have been arranged by Charles after Peter threatened to confess.
Daniel canceled the merger.
Then proposed a different partnership with Luca under conditions that required approximately six thousand pages of legal documents.
Isabella began rebuilding her life.
Ethan opened his investment firm.
And me?
I kept my resignation.
Luca argued.
I refused.
He offered a raise.
I laughed.
He offered a promotion.
I laughed harder.
Finally, he asked, “What do you want?”
I answered honestly.
“My own company.”
So I started one.
Bennett Executive Strategy.
The first month was terrifying.
The second was worse.
By the fourth, I had eight clients.
None of them were Luca.
That was intentional.
We had also not gone on a date.
That was less intentional.
We had kissed exactly once.
After that, Luca became infuriatingly respectful.
No flowers.
No midnight calls.
No surprise dinners.
Nothing.
I finally complained to Ethan.
He stared at me.
“You resigned because you wanted him to ask you out when he wasn’t your boss.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re angry because he’s giving you space.”
“Yes.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“I know.”
“Call him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Principle.”
“That is not a principle. That is stupidity wearing expensive shoes.”
I hated Ethan.
Three days later, I received an envelope.
No diamonds.
No dress.
Inside was a card.
Dinner.
Friday.
7:30.
No cameras.
No business.
No pretending.
Underneath, Luca had written:
This is me asking, not ordering.
I smiled for approximately ten minutes.
Then I called him.
“You forgot something.”
“What?”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
Silence.
Then:
“Sophia Bennett, would you have dinner with me Friday?”
I let him wait.
Just because I could.
“Yes.”
“Seven-thirty?”
“Yes.”
“Should I send a car?”
“No.”
“Can I—”
“Luca?”
“Yes?”
“You’re overthinking.”
“I’m aware.”
I smiled.
“Good night.”
“Sophia.”
“What?”
“I’ve been trying not to say this for three months.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Then maybe keep trying until Friday.”
I hung up.
I had no idea that our first real date would end with Luca asking me one question that frightened me more than Charles Moretti ever had.
Not “Will you marry me?”
May you like
Something much harder.
“Do you love me?”
